


Faith and a Season

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They'd had to take a bit of a price hit on the guns. That was only to be expected, given the fact pictures of the two beauties were splashed across every newspaper in Europe, but 400k for the pair was still enough for Tom, Soap, Ed and Bacon to enjoy a nice, long holiday."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith and a Season

**Author's Note:**

> "So I said I'm on the roam so I need a car/And I know that I'm staying alive/And I say I got faith and a season  
> And I say that's where I'm going to." Ocean Colour Scene, "Hundred Mile High City."
> 
> Set post-movie.

“We'll have to tell the boys.”

“Hm?” Tom shifted comfortably, the slick silk sheets rustling beneath him. Soap's voice sounded far away, like the calls of the seagulls drifting in through the open window. 

“I said, we'll have to tell the boys. If we don't, they'll find out anyways, and that'll be worse in the long run.”

Tom opened his eyes. Soap looked worried, but not overly so. He was lying on his back, staring up at the mirrored ceiling above the bed and smoking. He stretched, his scarred, naked body unfolding in front of Tom's eyes like the world's best Christmas present. When he saw Tom looking, he passed over the cigarette. Tom took a grateful draw. “I thought you were good at keeping secrets,” Tom said. There were still things Tom didn't know about Soap's past, a lot of things, and that was fine. There was a lot Soap didn't know about him, too, and Tom preferred it that way. It had been hard enough to get Soap to this point. Now they were finally here, Tom didn't want anything changing his mind. 

Soap shrugged. “Yeah, well. That was then, this is now.” 

That was true, and Tom couldn't be happier about it. “Then” had been scrabbling around in the East End muck, selling stolen stereos to geezers who wouldn't know a deal if it walked up and pissed on their knock-off Guccis. “Now” was lying in bed in a five-star hotel on the Costa del Sol, a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob and a rapidly cooling puddle of Soap's come on his chest. No contest there. 

They'd had to take a bit of a price hit on the guns. That was only to be expected, given the fact pictures of the two beauties were splashed across every newspaper in Europe, but 400k for the pair was still enough for Tom, Soap, Ed and Bacon to enjoy a nice, long holiday. Not to mention the lifetime gloating rights Tom had acquired by being the only one who'd believed they were worth anything in the first place. 

Tom handed the cigarette back to Soap and rolled over. A light breeze had picked up, billowing the sheer white curtains like something out of a high-class porno. Soap was a bit porn-ish, too, come to think of it. Tom had messed about with boys a little when he was young, but Soap stroked and sucked and fucked like a man with a lot of experience behind him. So to speak.

Tom felt a vague, tight feeling in his chest, like bad indigestion, when he thought about that, so he didn't think of it. Instead, he thought about being here, with Soap and Eddy and Bacon, enjoying the good life for once. They fucking deserved it, after what they'd been through.

Tom rolled over on top of Soap, who laughed and moved the cigarette to safety in an ashtray on the bedside table. The room was bigger than anywhere Tom had lived in his entire life, even when he was little and his mum had six kids crammed into a council flat in Spitalfields. The enormous bed was on a sort of raised platform in the middle of the room, like a stage. There was a big sofa against one wall and a TV worth at least five grand and a little kitchenette in the corner. Soap had insisted on that. Even though they could easily have afforded to eat every meal at the best restaurants—hell, they could have bought one of the best restaurants—Soap still wanted to cook sometimes. Tom liked that.

Soap shifted beneath Tom, a sensation that went straight to Tom's cock, lying flaccid and spent between his thighs. There was no chance of it stirring to life anytime soon. Tom settled for fucking Soap's mouth instead, sliding his tongue between his lips and kissing him until they were both breathless.

“I love you,” Tom gasped, as he pulled away. He hadn't meant to say it, but now that it was out there, he couldn't deny it was true. Tom was a lot of things, but a liar he was not. Not when it was important, anyway.

Soap looked at him. “Fuck off,” he said, but words didn't reach his eyes. Instead, he put his arms around Tom and said the words every man longs to hear in the wake of some truly mind-blowing sex. “Want me to make you something to eat?” 

“Yeah, all right.” Tom slapped Soap's backside as he got out of bed, then lay back against the pillows. 

He was the luckiest bastard in the universe, there was no doubt about it. He didn't know how long it was going to last, he never did, but for now, he was going to concentrate on enjoying every moment. And maybe finally giving Bacon a reason to call him “Fat Tom.”


End file.
